


Step Into The Cafe Inside Your Mind

by LeafStitch



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, Dirk Strider's Issues, Homestuck 2 - Freeform, Introspection, Meat Epilogue, Minor Jake English/Dirk Strider, Regret, Suicidal Thoughts, The Homestuck Epilogues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 12:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18604330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafStitch/pseuds/LeafStitch
Summary: Somewhere in the distant corners of your mind, you find another version of yourself. He’s sitting at a cafe table, hands around an ice cold cup of once-hot tea.(Or: Dirk Prime talks it out with Ultimate Dirk.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a couple thoughts. title from a gerard way tweet

Somewhere in the distant corners of your mind, you find another version of yourself. He’s sitting at a cafe table, hands around an ice cold cup of once-hot tea. His outfit looks like your own god tier outfit, but sharper, more anime. He looks sharper in general: his hair, his jawline, the point of his shades. He’s fidgeting, foot bouncing rapidly, and appears to me arguing with himself. He sees you and seems to sigh, waving you over.

There is no one else in this cafe, just the two of you and the infinite tables that eventually turn into pure white space. No barista is behind the counter. There isn’t even any food in the display case. This dream already sucks. You take the seat across from him, your chair surprisingly solid in your hands. It doesn’t squeak across the soft tile floor.

“‘Sup?” the other you says.

“Not too much,” you reply. You know what’s going on with him, you’ve been feeling it these last couple of days. Pain in your neck here, pain in your abdomen there, the occasional pain in the eye or both knees. “There’s only one of me in my head, which is more than you can say. What’s up with you?”

He sighs, staring into his teacup. “A lot of shit. Not physically, though. Mentally?” He laughs. “Fucked over.”

“That’s what I thought,” you say, looking side to side for something else to look at, something that isn’t him, “Is it as rewarding as you thought it would be? Is…. Is the real us still even in there?”

Dirk sighs again, pushing his shades into his hair and rubbing his eyes. “It’s….. Complicated. Not rewarding. In a strange way, I feel satisfied. Narratively.” He looks at you, and his irises flicker like a flame; sometimes your typical orange, sometimes darker, sometimes golden, sometimes completely brown. “It’s quite different from being a person. And I know you don’t feel like one sometimes, but it’s completely different from that.”

Your relationship with feeling like a person varies from day to day. He’s got several million of you inside his head. Some are normal, and others are fragments of Lord English. That’s got to be insufferable.

“Must be one hell of a self-satisfactory narrative circlejerk,” you say.

“It was fun while it lasted.” He shrugs. “It was nice to have Jake want me. But that’s pretty pathetic to admit.”

If you focus enough, you can feel your physical body. You can hear your Jake’s heartbeat against your ear, feel his arms around your torso, your nose pressed to his neck. You shake your head and focus back on the Dirk in front of you.

“That sounds gross, my man.”

“It was gross,” he says, “That’s what made it satisfying. And before you ask, yes, I do feel what the other Dirks are feeling when we merge. Same way you do.” There’s a sting across your old scar. He winces. Another one has joined him. Another that didn’t make it at another point in time. “I can separate a couple of their experiences, but it’s taxing.” He lets out another little sigh-laugh. “It does make me a little less lonely, though.”

There’s quiet between the two of you. He rubs at his neck, and you find yourself doing the same thing.

“I feel a lot of pain,” he admits quietly.

“Are you scared?” You already know the answer.

“The same way you are. I don’t feel any different. I just get to see it from another perspective. Another me telling me the fear is stupid.”

“Which one is telling you that?” He shrugs again, not looking at you. “Is it Dave’s bro? Heard that guy was a dick.”

“Oh god,” he chuckles, remorseful, “He’s pretty fucked.” A pause. “I’m pretty fucked.”

“How fucked?”

“Super fucked.”

“Raised-by-Lord-English-but-a-puppet fucked?”

“I don’t need to be thinking about that. I already told you I was scared.”

“If you were so scared of becoming him, how did you wind up like this? With the infinite yous in there, there must also be infinite hims.”

“There are. I think I’m still in the front.” Dirk picks up a sugar cube from the table, and stirs it into his cold tea. “For now.” That’s…. Good. You think. “I’m being consumed.”

You nod. “I know.” You wonder if there’s anything for you to interact with here. At the moment, it doesn’t appear to be that way. “Who’s trying to take the most control?” You already know the answer.

“Bro.” You knew he’d say that. “He’s the most like me.” You make a disgusted face, and he snorts. “He’s confident, too.”

“More than we are,” you say.

“So much more.” He shakes his head. “So much more than I am.” He notices you looking at his drink. “Do you want something? I can get you something.”

“Surprise me.”

Dirk stands up, going over to a drink machine in a corner you hadn’t noticed. He takes a clear plastic cup from seemingly nowhere, and fills it. He returns to you, lid on the cup and straw in his hand, and hands it over to you. The drink is red. You take a sip, and it’s a sweet fruit punch you haven’t tasted in years. Not because they don’t make it anymore, but because you haven’t figured out how to alchemize it yet. You sip your drink, and look over at him. He’s rubbing his eyes, shades now on the table. You’re not wearing your own shades; you haven’t in some time.

“I feel sorry for you,” you say. He gives another weak laugh, staring at the table below him.

“I brought this on myself.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t feel sorry.” You remember feeling like him, but you’re sure it’s not to the same degree the Dirk in front of you is. “You’re hopeless. At least when I wake up, I’ll be in a world where we’re all doing alright.”

“I _am_ hopeless,” he says. His voice is deeper than yours, you’ve noticed. He’s still fundamentally you, but with a few changes. “This fucking sucks, dude. But it’s what I deserve.”

You raise an eyebrow. “The same way we deserved to live over the ocean all fuckin’ deolate for sixteen years?”

He snorts. “Yeah. We deserved that shit too."

“I was being facetious.” He snorts again. “I mean it. I don’t know about you, but before we went back to be, like, gods, my version of Earth C had licensed therapists. Having a shitty time growing up wasn’t our fault.”

“It’s… so much easier. If you think that way.” You nod, sipping your drink.

“It is. Universal circumstance can’t be the fault of a literal baby.”

“I’ll just do something so terrible that nobody will be able to forgive me.” Wait, no, that’s not what you wanted him to say. “Then everything will be my fault.”

“You’ll create the worst being in our universes by accident. You’ll break up people who were happy, just to complete your plans.”

“I will.”

“You want that self fulfilling prophecy so much, don’t you?”

“I should have killed myself,” he sighs, stirring another sugar cube into his tea. It doesn’t melt, simply breaking up in the liquid.

“Then there’d just be another one of us doing this,” you say simply.

“If I don’t think about it to hard it feels okay,” he mutters.

“What does? The possibility of death?” Dirk shakes his head.

“It isn’t even death anymore, bro. It’s coagulating with this….” He gestures at his head. “...Thing. And being controlled by it.”

“There’s the you that will die and the you that’ll keep going.” He rests his head in his hand, elbow on the table. His tea is nearly half-filled with sugar. “Eventually, I’ll become part of you. Hopefully, it won’t be too soon.”

“This is so fucking stupid,” he chokes.

“Agreed.”

“It hurts,” he says, tears falling silently as he regains control of his voice, “I can’t even think straight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I should be sorry for you,” he mutters.

“Why? Because I’ll eventually become a part of you? And because I know it?” Dirk nods. “Then I’ll enjoy the time I already have. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. Heroically, justified, or otherwise.”

“But it’ll happen eventually. Maybe you’ll get tired of your friends.”

“Maybe I’ve learned to communicate,” you shoot back, “Maybe I’ll meet other people.”

“It’s over eventually,” he tells the cup.

“You’re only saying that because the Dirk trying to take you over never had anyone.”

“I am,” he says, looking up at you, “That doesn’t make it less true.”

“I won’t kill myself to join you. I’m too in love with my life.”

“You’ll succumb to it, that feeling that drags under your skin.” You know that feeling. You’ve felt it plenty of times before. “And you’ll realize that things are better like this. And none of that bullshit actually made you happy.”

“You can’t entice me into this,” you say.

“Dunno,” he says lightly, “It’s a nice day. Like all these other days. A nice day to walk to the bell tower, if you ask me.”

“The one in Carapace City? It won’t be built for another four hundred years.”

“Damn.” He snaps his fingers in defeat. “Is it enticing?”

“What?”

“Would suicide be enticing?”

“Nope.” He sighs. “Ask me five years ago, maybe. But not now.”

“There’s no _reason_ you should be happy,” he says, petulant.

“There are several. For example: I have a good relationship with my brother, no animosity between me and my friends, I have a loving boyfriend, et cetera."

“Not real,” he mumbles, “You could easily control them. They wouldn’t know the difference.”

“I couldn’t,” you say, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I know it’s the same for the real you.”  
  
“You don’t have to be the universe’s bitch.” His voice keeps getting smaller.

“Neither do you.” He opens his mouth to argue. “And don’t try to argue. The universe demanded you do something and you listened.”

“I’m going to create a new world,” Dirk says, hands curling tighter around the teacup, “And once I become powerful enough there, I’ll come back and control yours. And you’ll understand why I’m doing this. You understand right now, as a part of me. You can delude yourself into thinking that you can lead a normal life and eventually you’ll just decide not to.” The cup in his hands shatters. He picks porcelain out of his fingers, ignoring the blood mixing in with his tea and sugar. “Just like I did,” he finishes lamely.

“Fucking imagine that,” you snort, “A world we created.” He takes a few napkins, sopping up the tea. “How many of us in there are against all of this? How many died without meaning to and don’t know why they’re in there?” His face is pained, a few more tears dripping off his nose.

“It doesn’t work like that. They’re already me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Even if they want to be good, they surrender themselves.” Just like he’s doing. Just like you might do. You’ve only ever wanted to be good.

“At least I’m not miserable,” you say instead, “You were miserable before all this, and it’s just making you worse.”

“It’s not _about_ bein’ happy,” he grits out.

“It’s about the power. And the possibility.” He hums. You shouldn’t be this angry. It isn’t good for you to be this angry at yourself. “Fucking what _ever_ , dude. Why’s it even matter? Why’s it such a big deal that you have this power?”

“I failed at being a human.” He barely shrugs one shoulder, not looking at you. “Now I don’t have to be one.”

“Fucking hell,” you nearly growl, “This is ridiculous! You’re insufferable. I never realized I was that bad.”

“Why can’t you understand?” Dirk whines, shoulders hunched, voice smaller than the rest of his physicality.

“I do. I understand. But I think it’s fucking stupid.”

“Yeah? And what do you do that isn’t stupid?”

“Nothing, my man.” You stand up, your chair scraping across the soft tile floor, leaving your drink. “In the grand scheme of shit, nothing I do matters. I’m a god, and it doesn’t matter. So that’s why I do it. Who cares! Who cares that I’m building a big fuckoff robot? Who cares that I’m finally enjoying my shitty life?” You throw up your hands, exasperated. “The universe sure as hell doesn’t, so I might as well. Yeah, it’s stupid. But it’s fun. And I’m happy.”

“This is more fun,” he says, looking up at you, “And more stupid. And you’re right. The universe doesn’t care about you. But we could create our own realities, and I’m actually doing it. And even when I do get eventually defeated, I’ll know I did something. And I’ll have to be wiped from everything, completely and totally wiped. Everyone will forget me. And I’ll never get to feel the displeasure of being around. I just cause problems for people, Dirk. That’s our thing.”  
  
“It’s your thing,” you say, “I don’t think you get it. I’m happy right now. My life has meaning, genuinely. All this universe bullshit? I don’t care. We spent our whole life trying to plan out everyone’s lives, and I’ve decided to take a break from that. Maybe I’ll build a robot. Maybe I’ll _invent_ robots. I’ll go on a hike. I’ll swim because I want to, not because I need to scavenge. But I’m not counting the seconds ‘til the next drone attack, and I’m not worried about skeletons trying to kill me or a fourth fucking decapitation.”

“I guess that’s nice,” he says quietly, looking back down at his slightly bloody hands.

“It is. And I feel sorry for you. Things are only going to get worse, and I’m sorry about that. Maybe all your plans will work out. Maybe you’ll beat it. I’ll be rooting for you.” The cafe door appears somewhere to your left. You guess you’re done here. “Before I go, is there anything you need?”

He stands up, pushing in his chair and coming up to you.

“A hug, maybe?” He is so much older than you and so much younger at the same time. You oblige. He hugs you tightly, like he hasn’t been close to anyone in a long time. His shoulders shake, and he pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” you say one last time.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. You head to the cafe door and look at him. He sits back down at the table, a new, unbroken cup of tea, now steaming, in his hands. You open the door, and close it behind you.

It’s still dark when you wake up. Your face is wet. You hold a little closer to Jake, and let his soft snores lull you back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda cried writing this. my boy deserved better. work is being done on cut my teeth and separate peace, but they may be on hold until i finish my workload for the year. seeyall next time x
> 
> Edit: forgot to mention something. I personally subscribe to the idea that after they went forward 5000 years, they stuck around for like, 15 years, stopped physically aging around age 25, and then went back to the start to be the gods of earth c. That's why Dirk says stuff won't be build for 400 years


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk Prime talks it out with Ultimate Dirk, again. It goes less well.

It’s been months since you spoke to that other Dirk. Those other Dirks. You can’t get the afterimage of his ever-shifting eyes out of your head. It sticks with you as you oversee the construction of a temple in your honor, the Prince, the god of soul and war and love and machinery. The god with the Heart too big for his body.

They build you a bedchamber within the temple, but you prefer to not sleep there. It’s too cold, too new, too far from any of the people you actually care about, too close to followers and worshippers you don’t deserve. Jake’s temple is considerably more comfortable, but you both prefer to stay in your room on your personal Mount Olympus. You’ve all been gods for nearly five hundred years, but this year is the one that’s felt the most tumultuous.

You almost have him completely out of your mind when that other Dirk appears again.

You are on a spaceship, and you are hurtling through space. You only know this because there is a window in the corridor you find yourself in, and behind you, there is a door. You hear a voice behind the door, sounding somewhat distant.

When you open the door, you see a fairly large room with a somewhat eclectic collection of things scattered about. There are bamboo mats and a kotatsu with - is that Jake’s blanket? - in the center. There’s also a godawful rug towards the back, a corner filled with blankets and mattress toppers, a desk covered in papers, and what look like trinkets or trophies on pedestals around the room. And, pacing around and monologuing, is you, a few years older, a ridiculous high-collared cape over his shoulders, his shades maroon as opposed to black, the rest of his outfit equally atrocious.

You close the door softly behind you as you enter, and walk forward. He doesn’t seem to notice you. Or, rather, he doesn’t acknowledge you. You’re not being sneaky about it, he definitely sees you. He ends his monologue as you reach the kotatsu. The book you gave to Jane for her fifteenth birthday is on the floor beside it. Your best work, really. You don’t know why he has it, and you don’t want to find out. The point was to leave that with her and never touch it again.

The other you is staring at you now, but when you look up, he’s different than when you first entered. His hair is a different texture, his skin a different color. Perhaps the results of being Ultimate. His body type is different, too, shoulders more filled out, much taller, face squarer. He looks different, but he is still distinctly you. You frown.

“What?” he says, looking down at himself, his voice deeper than last time, “Don’t like the look?”

“You look ridiculous,” you say. He snorts, leaning against the desk. You take another moment to look around the room, and when you look back at him, he’s changed again. He’s shorter this time, closer to your height, his face softer and his hair curlier. 

“I see you haven’t joined me yet,” he says, voice closer to your pitch this time. You’re never going to get used to this.

“Again, dude. I don’t plan to.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “This is ridiculous. What you’re doing is ridiculous.”

“You know,” he says, ignoring that last point, “I realized something. I don’t think you _can_ join me. If _I_ were to die, it would be Just. _You,_ on the other hand, don’t hate yourself that much anymore. If you were to throw yourself off the clock tower, you’d just come back, wake up in a puddle of your own blood with your head still attached to your body.”

“Your death would only be Just since you’ve let yourself become the villain,” you say, and he chuckles.

“Sure, sure,” he says, “But so are all the other Dirks who join me. They see themselves as the villains for joining me, for wanting to join me, for knowing that they could become me. What sets you apart, then? What’s so different about you?”

You fully approach the desk, finding it covered in prose, drawings, and bizarre collages. One piece of paper is completely crumpled into a ball, and you pick it up. Behind you, Dirk makes a distressed noise, and you look at him again, finding him taller, broader, hands curled into fists at his sides. You uncrumple the paper.

When you were about fifteen, Caliborn wanted you to draw some incredibly safe for work “pornography” for him, and you were disappointed when he didn’t want you to draw you and Jake together. You did anyway. The style of this drawing is very similar, the technique improved with what you guess is up to ten years more drawing experience. It’s of Jake, holding you in a dip, kissing your cheek. Mwah! the drawing says. And it’s of you, being held. 

You look back up at Dirk, finding him almost identical to you now, pinching the bridge of his nose, shades pushed up to his forehead. You show him the drawing.

“I’m not fucking pathetic, for a start.” He groans, and stomps away. You stare at the drawing for a few more seconds, before placing it back on the table. “How long ago did you push him away, anyway? How long’s it been since you’ve seen him?”

Dirk has his back to you, and you almost miss his mumble of, “Three years.”

“Three years?” He nods, back still to you. “Jesus fucking dick, dude. Get a life.”

“I’m getting lives,” he says, turning to you, “All of the other mes, I’m getting their lives.”

“Ohhh my god,” you say, looking up at the ceiling, “Get _over_ yourself, holy shit. There’s a billion of us in there and all you’re doing is fucking wallowing over your ex.”

“It’s not just me who misses him,” he protests, and you look at him, raising an eyebrow. His blush is covering his now-there freckles. “You should hear it. All the other mes. All the ones like you, who still had their Jakes. ‘I miss Jake,’ they say, ‘You should draw Jake. Do you miss him? Where is he?.’ It’s ridiculous. I didn’t even draw that one. One of them did.” The blush reaching his ears says otherwise.

“Then who am I even talking to?” you say, and he scoffs.

“The one you originally spoke to. Obviously.” He turns away, picking up the copy of _Detective Pony_ and flipping through it. “This ship is called the _Theseus_ , you know.”

“I wouldn’t, actually. I didn’t see the outside.” 

“Shut up. As I was saying, it’s the _Theseus._ Theseus’s ship, if you will.” God, you hate this guy. You hate that you could become this. You won’t, but you hate that it’s a possibility. “If I start as one Dirk, and slowly replace all the pieces one by one, when this ship crash-lands, will I still be the same Dirk?”

“Fuckin’ appropriate you’re lookin’ through the fuckin’ pony book, then,” you snap, “Wasn’t the conclusion of that that we were the Minotaur? Trapped in the labyrinthine text of our own creation? Fuckin’ appropriate that the ship is named after thing thing that will kill us.”

“I’ll die at the end of this,” he says, “Don’t worry. I’ll die, and it’ll be justified. Maybe this ship will kill me. Maybe it won’t. Rose already said it, anyway. There’s nothing too Heroic going on right now. Maybe the ship will crash and it’ll all be justified.”

“Shut _up,_ holy _shit,_ ” you say, exasperated, “You suck at philosophy, you’re an asshole, there’s everything and nothing going on in your too-full head and you’re trying to focus on a billion splinters at once. How many of us are in there? How many of us are in there and are still fifteen? How many of us are in there and are Hal or ARquius or Bro or Lord fucking English, for that matter?”

“The answer’s the same for all three, bromeo,” he says, “Too fuckin’ many.”

You wondered, once, what would happen if you had jumped into the ocean one night and never resurfaced. You wondered what difference it would have made. You know now what would have happened. You would have become part of this asshole.

“I’m infinite, Dirk,” he continues, “There are countless mes to keep me company, countless ways each of them died, countless versions of our lives that went in countless directions. I’m finally having that crisis on infinite Dirks. I swear, we could be infinite.”

“Don’t get all _Perks of Being a Wallflower_ on me, fucker,” you say, “You’re just doing this because it’s easier. You’re just doing this because it’s easier than trying to be good, than trying to make some actual self improvement. You’re just doing this because you didn’t feel like talking about your fucking issues.”

“And now I don’t _need to,_ ” he snarls, getting up in your face, “I don’t fucking _need_ to talk about what’s bothering me because it won’t matter. Because all of this is a fucking _game,_ Dirk. Nothing matters. I don’t need you to join me. I don’t need Rose or Terezi for my plans, I don’t need Jake, I sure as hell don’t need _you._ So take your fucking holier-than-thou attitude about all this and shove it up your ass. I already got infinite mes doing the same thing in my own damn head.”

“You decided to drown rather than call for help. Or to even find a fucking raft,” you say, shoving him away, “You’re a fucking coward, is what you are.” He stumbles back and glares at you over his shades. His eyes are still shifting, still moving, but every so often a color not orangegoldbrownorangeamber flashes through. Green. Red. Black. An eight ball. Pure white. 

“It’s a good thing I don’t want you in here. You’d be another one of the useless ones, all whiny and scared, wanting to go back. And every time I have to tell them, ‘You’re fucking dead. You can’t go back. You can’t go back to Roxy and Jane and Jake. You can never go back to them. They never wanted you in the first place.’ No matter how much you wanted them.”

You shake your head, sighing.

“I’m sorry you think that--”

“I’m sorry you think they do,” he retorts.

“ _I_ wasn’t finished.” He takes a step back at your harsher tone. You’re not in that fucking cafe anymore. You don’t have to be nice. “I’m sorry you think your friends don’t want you around. I’m sorry you’ve become such a sad sack of shit. I’m sorry for my _self_ that I might wind up as part of you one day, because you’re so goddamn miserable.” You pause. “And you know what? I’m sorry you never fucking tried.”

You push him to the side as you go back towards the door. He tries to grab the back of your shirt, and you whip around, grabbing his wrist. 

“I’m not like the other yous in there,” you say, squeezing his wrist. He winces in pain. “I’m still fucking kicking. And don’t you try to follow me. I’d hate to inherit all your bullshit once you die.” You release his wrist and leave the room, slamming the door behind you. He doesn’t try to protest as you leave. 

You wake up in your bed on Not-Olympus. You sit up, and beside you, Jake blinks awake. His voice is quiet and sleep-soft.

“Dirk? What’s the matter?” he says.

You sigh. “Nothing that really matters.”

He sits up with you, and you lean into him, closing your eyes.

“Seems important if it’s got you this tense,” he says, and you try to relax, not realizing you’d been clenching your jaw.

“Just… glad I had the opportunity to not become someone awful,” you say and you feel him smile against your hair. He pulls you back down, and you don’t resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! i dont know if ill be reading the rest of homestuck 2, but all in all, it's a load of horseshit, the epilogues still suck, i already cried this morning when i read it and at this rate i dont care. again, im not letting some hacks ruin my goddamn special interest. at least this one actually feels like homestuck. detective pony shouldn't be canon, but at least terezi got to call dirk fucking ridiculous. at least homestuck 2 is just two seers roasting ultidirk forever.
> 
> upcoming: sburban mythos, eventual separate peace update. if all goes according to hopes, that'll wrap up eventually for real, like a real story does 
> 
> i'm gonna delete cut my teeth now. i fully lost interest and the au got too fucking edgy for me. im also not into orphaning works, and leaving things unfinished on my account feels messy. 
> 
> im going to a party tonight and forgetting that i care about this shit. goodnight, stay safe, dont drive yourself nuts over a piece of fiction when theres other fiction out there. if reading homestuck 2 will hurt you, dont do it.


End file.
